


When the World Drops Dead

by amemorymaze



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Moonrise Kingdom au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-16 08:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2263332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amemorymaze/pseuds/amemorymaze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After meeting at a church in the summer of 1965, two teenage boys make a pact, run away together and fall in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is for [elsa](http://www.kurtfer.tumblr.com) because she got me to watch moonrise kingdom and we basically headcanoned a klaine fic as we watched it and with thanks to [kayla](http://www.colfergust.tumblr.com) because of reasons.   
> Also, you don't have to have seen the film to understand this fic!

The air is still as the sun beams shine brightly across the meadow, the long dulled green grass barely moving and the tall, rustic windmill stands still in the absence of wind. The only sounds to be heard are the quiet, quiet rustling of the leaves on the trees on the surrounding perimeter and the louder crunch, crunch, crunch of the grass and leaves being squashed underneath feet; the sound deafening in the silent atmosphere.

And there, in a empty meadow stands two boys one hundred yards apart. There’s a boy scout in his green uniform, badges plastered all over along with a small crest on the arm; a navy blue shield with an artistic D inside. His yellow neck scarf is trapped underneath the bulging backpack, looking like it’s about to burst as it’s packed to the brim. A bronze compass is draped around his neck and a brown, leather case holding a water bottle is slung over his shoulder. Dark brown curls are peeking from underneath a large, furry, brown hat perched on his head with it’s tail dangling down by the side of his face, almost touching the dark, thick frames sitting atop his nose.

Flowers are grasped in his hand, the green stems shooting up to reach white petals to form a bunch of small daisies.

The other boy stands there in matching shorts reaching just above the knee and a shirt with three-quarter length sleeves. It’s an outfit entirely of pink barring the stark white of the collar and the folded white of the end of the shirt’s sleeves. He has a set of black binoculars sitting around his neck and a wicker basket, the strap slung across his body. In one hand is a brilliant blue record player along with a red tartan satchel and by his feet sits a dull, mustard yellow suitcase.

The two boys look up and catch each other’s gaze, small smiles spreading across both of their faces immediately. There’s a quiet meow, ringing through the field and the boy scout squints his eyes, smiling even brighter; “Is that a cat in there?”

The other boy nods, the smile now giddy as his eyes glisten with happiness with the suitcase in his hand as he walks forward closer and closer and closer.

“Can you read a map?”

The cat meows and the boy shrugs. “Never tried.”

“That’s okay,” the boy-scout says, “I can teach you.”

They’re face to face now, and they both look shyly away.

“Hello, Kurt Hummel,” the boy scout says, his eyes wide, as he holds the flowers in his hands out directly in front of him.

Kurt’s eyes grow bright as he realises the flowers are for him; setting his suitcase down he plucks them from the hands softly, and holds them to his nose. “They don’t smell,” Kurt says and the boy shrugs; “But that’s okay. They’re pretty enough that I can imagine their scent and I believe that if they did have a smell, they would smell beautiful.”

The other boy grins, the motion lighting up his face and subsequently Kurt’s; “Are you ready to go?”

Kurt nods his head. “With you, Blaine Anderson, always.”

Blaine grabs the dull yellow suitcase from by Kurt’s feet after giving Kurt the map tucking into his shirt pocket. As Kurt unfolds the map, Blaine tries to explain and help Kurt to understand it. They start making their way through the tall grass and into the dark trees with only spots of sunlight breaking through the gaps in leave, shining bright and looking like magic.

+

It’s in a church that it starts, in the summer of 1965; pews filled to the brim with people, flowers and candles decorating the aisle. The crowd is humming along with the song the small brunette girl is belting from the stage - her voice magnificent and sending chills through Blaine’s spine. But his attention is elsewhere - on glimmering, bright blue eyes, hidden under the black headwear of a bird. He follows the movements of the boy as he flies his way around the stage in a dance and singing back-up.

As Blaine watches, his heart beats erratically and his breath comes out in short bursts as butterflies shoot around his stomach.

By the intermission, his head in spinning and he can’t get the image of those eyes out of his head, so he sneaks away from his scout group, ducking behind the pews making his way backstage.

He knows he won’t be missed.

Blaine squeezes his way through a costume rack, emerging on the other side to a group of girls and a boy sitting in the middle. They’re all in front of the mirror in quiet whispers as they draw their eyes black and their lips red.

He takes a breath before clearing his throat.

They all turn at once and Blaine’s breath catches as his gaze connects with his. There he is. The one with the glistening blue eyes.

“What kind of bird are you?” He asks, his gaze never faltering.

“I’m a sparrow,” the brunette with the amazing voice says, pointing down the line; “She’s a dove-”

“No,” Blaine says, his eyes still caught on the boy’s. “What kind of bird,” he asks, “are you?”

And he knows that the boy understood with the way his eyes grew slightly wider in realisation. There’s a short pause and both boys hold their breath before; “I’m a blackbird.”

“Boys aren’t allowed in here,” the sparrow grumbles as she looks at Blaine pointedly.

Blaine’s eyebrows furrow in confusion; “He’s a boy,” he says, motioning towards the blackbird.

“I’m an exception,” the boy says and a small spreads across his face and Blaine can’t help but think that that is the saddest smile he’s ever seen. “You should go.”

“Ok,” Blaine says, taking one last look at the boy before stepping back through the costumes of feathers and glitter.

He doesn’t get far back down the corridor when he hears footsteps racing behind him and he smiles as he turns; “Write me,” the boy says, handing Blaine a piece of paper and by the time Blaine’s unfolded it; he’s gone.

All that’s left is a name; Kurt Hummel, and a memory.

+

“Dear Kurt, you have a superb voice even if I could only hear it in harmonies, but you also have the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen. Please find enclosed -”

 

“Dear Blaine, thank you very much. I got replaced as the blackbird because there were complaints that - ”

 

“Dear Kurt, I don’t think anyone else could play the blackbird as well as you. I’m sorry people treat you like that, they don’t understand -”

 

“Dear Blaine, you are an excellent composer. I played ‘The Scout and the Blackbird’ on my father’s piano. I particularly enjoyed -”

 

“Dear Kurt, I’m trying to do what you said and make friends with my fellow Warbler Scouts but I am scared that they don’t like me and -”

 

“Dear Blaine, no one at my school likes me and I’m scared my dad will find out. Do you have any methods of covering bruises because -”

 

“Dear Kurt, I am sorry you are scared of your dad, but I am sure he still loves you. That is the most important thing, if -”

 

“Dear Blaine, even if I don’t believe it, it’s comforting to think of your parents watching over you and protecting you. You should think of them everyday and -”

 

“Dear Kurt, here is my plan -”

 

“Dear Blaine, my answer is yes -”

 

“Dear Kurt, when -”

 

“Dear Blaine, where -”

 

“Dear Kurt, I will meet you in the meadow. Yours, Blaine.”

+

“I wish I had been able to bring the piano,” Kurt says as they sit cross-legged in the middle of their camp with the record player between them. Their yellow tent is pitched under the canopy of trees, surrounded by fallen leaves and sparse patches of grass. Twigs and rocks underneath them  isn’t as comfortable as Kurt had imagined, but it’s enough.

Enough to help Kurt remember how to breathe again. He’s so glad to be away from the strong arms of the football players in his school who like to throw him around and away from the judgemental eyes of the entire student body as they laugh and giggle and spread rumours (however true) that he hasn’t even told anyone about.

So he sits there on that old rug they have spread over the rocks by the sea where Blaine had taught him to catch fish and where Kurt had caught Blaine before he fell into the dark waters below. He sits and breathes and when Blaine looks over to see him smiling, the smile shining as bright as the sun glistening in the sky and thinks to himself that that smile is the most beautiful smile he’s ever seen.

“Why?” Blaine asks.

“So that I can see if you are as beautiful playing as your compositions are,” Kurt says, smiling shyly as he looks down at the ground; “Also, I want to sing to you as you play.”

Blaine smiles up at Kurt from under his eyelashes and reaches over to tangle his fingers with Kurt’s. He watches as Kurt’s eyes flicker up to Blaine’s in surprise but Blaine just keeps the smile on his face as he says, “One day, Kurt Hummel, we will.”

Kurt forgets how to breath for a split second but then he turns his palm upright, and tightens his fingers around Blaine’s in an act of affection.

Blaine sits back up straight, one hand tangled with Kurt’s, a huge grin spreading across his face, brightening his round, hazel eyes in the sunlight; “So, tell me what you brought with you?”

“Why?”

“So I can get to know you even better than I already do,” he replies as if it’s obvious.

Kurt leans away, missing the warmth of Blaine’s hand in his as he grabs his yellow suitcase and his bag, dragging them over.

“So, obviously, there’s my cat,” there’s a loud meow from the tent where she’s sitting and Kurt smiles at her, “But you’ve already met her.”

As he opens the suitcase, he reveals books upon books and looks sheepishly up at Blaine. “These are my anthologies and books of poetry,” Kurt says, watching as Blaine carefully picks one up, “My mom gave me that one.”

“It must be special to you, then,” Blaine says, placing it carefully back amongst all the other books.

“Yeah,” Kurt says, a sad smile spreads across his face so Blaine leans over and rests a hand on his knee in comfort.

“It’s okay to be sad, you know.”

“I know,” Kurt replies, “I just don’t like it.”

Blaine nods, not moving his hand until Kurt moves to open up his satchel to pull out the first few items; “I brought a comb, some spare batteries, my mini sewing kit-”

“Why?”

“If I rip this outfit, I don’t have a spare,” Kurt says, shrugging. “Also, I would like my clothes to stay in good condition.”

“You like clothes?” Blaine asks.

“Of course,” Kurt replies, tucking the kit back into his satchel, “I like to look good.”

“Why?”

“It makes me feel better.”

“Oh,” Blaine says, “Are you depressed?”

“I don’t think so,” Kurt replies, “I just get sad sometimes.”

“Why’s that?”

“Here,” Kurt shrugs, as he pulls a black leaflet out of his satchel, holding it up for Blaine to read: Coping With The Very Troubled Child. “My dad got it from school one day when I almost got suspended because I was thrown in the dumpster and late to class - they thought I skipped. I found it on the fridge the day after.”

Blaine’s lips turn up into a smile and a small bout of laughter breaks free. Kurt’s face drops in surprise; “Are you-” he begins, “Are you laughing at me?”

Blaine doesn’t say anything as Kurt gets up and storms into the tent, the leaflet still in his hand. It’s a few minutes before Kurt hears the rustling from outside and then the tent moving as a body squeezes in next to his. “I’m sorry,” Blaine says, “I didn’t mean to laugh.”

Kurt huffs, looking away from Blaine and outside, where the sun is starting to set.

“It’s just,” Blaine starts, “Kurt,” he says, lightly brushing the edge of Kurt’s jaw with his fingertips, getting his attention, “Your dad obviously cares, Kurt.”

“How do you know?” Kurt says, slowly turning his head to face Blaine, the fingertips running across his skin.

“He wants to _help_ you, Kurt,” Blaine says, his eyes wide as he stressed his point, “Don’t you see that?”

“But, why?” Kurt asks, his breath hitching; “Why would he want to help me? Especially once he finds out what I am! How I’m _sick_ and not worth the space on this planet; how I don’t like girls like the bible says but I like _boys_ , Blaine.” Tears are threatening to fall from Kurt’s eyes as he tries to take deep breaths; “I am a homosexual and it’s not _right_.”

“Kurt,” Blaine says, softly, his own eyes glistening with wetness; “There is _nothing_ , I repeat, there’s is _absolutely nothing_ wrong with you.”

Kurt shakes his head, ignoring Blaine’s words as tears fall from his cheeks, dripping from his chin. Blaine lifts his hands gently, framing Kurt’s face with them, before brushing the tears away slowly with his thumbs, the barely of touch on Kurt’s skin as if he may break at any moment. “There is.”

“No,” Blaine says, his touch getting stronger, more certain; “What’s wrong with love?”

Kurt eyes grow wide and he doesn’t respond so Blaine sighs, pulling Kurt close and wrapping his arms tight around his neck. Kurt rests his head in the crook of Blaine’s neck, breathing in the sweet scent of earth and flowers and nature.

Blaine feels Kurt’s shoulders drop and his breath on his neck so he says; “So, are you going to read me some of those poems?”

He feels Kurt nod against his neck and they pull away slowly and Kurt looks down at the ground, before looking up into the hazel iris’ of Blaine’s eyes; “Thank you.”

+

“ _Though I am old with wandering_

_Through hollow lands and hilly lands,_

_I will find out where she has gone,_

_And kiss her lips and take her hands;_

_And walk among long dappled grass,_

_And pluck till time and times are done,_

_The silver apples of the moon,_

_The golden apples of the sun._ ”

 

And Kurt reads and reads, his back resting against a tree with the book propped up on his folded knees, his crystal clear voice ringing through the air like a song. It flows perfectly, punctuated and articulate as if this is what he was born to do. The summer air is a warm breeze, carrying Kurt’s voice across the dark waters.

And Blaine listens and listens, laying down with his head almost touching Kurt’s leg, watching the stars above shining brilliantly as they twinkle in the black, night sky. He feels at home, here, in a forest in the middle of the night as he listens to a now-familiar voice lull him to sleep.

He thinks to himself, as he lets Kurt’s voice and the words of poets wash over him, that maybe, just maybe, this is what love is.

+

They both wake in the early hours of the morning with the rising sun, slick with sweat in the humidity of the tent. It’s bleary eyes and sleep-ruffled hair as they yawn as stretch before making their way out of the tent. Blaine trips as he catches the edge of the tent and Kurt automatically holds out an arm for Blaine to hold onto.

They laugh as Blaine blames it on the early morning and that he hasn’t woken up properly yet. Packing up their camp doesn’t take long once they _have_ woken up and eat the rest of their leftover dinner from the previous night for breakfast.

By the time they set off, the sun has fully risen in the sky, shining brightly and causing sweat to drip down the backs of their necks as they make their way further and further into the forest and towards their destination.

Blaine tries to explain the map once again as they walk and Kurt tries to understand but he’s much better with words. So he nods his head and agrees with everything Blaine says. Their hands brush against one another; their skin prickling as they do. They both ignore it and keep moving, keep walking as the sun rises higher and they get closer and closer to their destination (and each other).

+

Kurt watches as Blaine sets up their tent again, this time on a wooden platform in the middle of a cove. He stands by the shore, the sand sticking to his feet as the water washes over his feet every second.

He’s happy to watch - happy to see the way Blaine’s muscles moves under his shirt and watch him as he assembles the structure. Kurt knows he’ll slow it down if he tries to help, so instead he stands with his cat perched on the crook of one arm and a book in the other hand, the sun high in the sky, beaming across the bright blue waters.

He reads aloud, above the crashing of the waves around his feet;

“ _here is the deepest secret nobody knows_

_(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud_

_and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows_

_higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)_

_and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart_

_i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)_ ”

 

Kurt doesn’t look up until he’s finished reading (even though he’s read it a hundred times before) because he loves the way it looks and the way it’s printed. And now, standing here, the words mean to much more.

When he looks up, it’s to see Blaine finished building their camp, his hat thrown in the tent along with his backpack. His sleeves are rolled above his elbows as he jumps down from the platform, walking towards Kurt.

“That sounded beautiful,” Blaine says, a blush covering his cheeks and Kurt knows that he knows that Kurt was reading it both to him and about him.

So Kurt just shrugs, looking over at Blaine with the hint of a smile on his face causing Blaine to grin a contagious smile as Kurt lets the kitten free from his arms and she runs back into her basket.

A mischievous glint sparkles in Blaine’s eyes and Kurt takes a step backwards, almost tripping backwards into the water. “Woah,” Blaine says, grabbing Kurt’s waist, and pulling him closer, “Wouldn’t want you getting wet, would we?”

Kurt squeals as he realises what Blaine’s about to do; “No! Blaine, please,” he laughs as Blaine lifts him into a fireman carry.

“Wait!” He shouts, eyes closed tight; “Let me put my book down!”

Blaine’s eyes go wide as he lowers Kurt down onto the rocky sand, away from the water; “Wha-” he begins, watching as Kurt begins to untuck his shirt from his shorts, popping the buttons as he lets the shorts fall to the floor in a heap. He ducks his head, not looking at Blaine as he bends down to grab the shorts and put them in the tent along with his book.

The shirt covers his boxers, Blaine only able to see glimpses of black fabric underneath. With his back turned to Blaine, Kurt pulls the shirt over his head, leaving him in only his boxer-briefs, the black material clinging to his body and Blaine can’t help but stare.

“Ready,” Kurt says, shrugging, a blush covering his cheeks as Blaine stares.

Blaine surges forward, touching Kurt’s face gently, tracing his cheekbones, looking into the depth of his crystal blue eyes; “You’re beautiful.”

He takes a small step backwards, unbuttoning his shirt, letting it fall open against his chest and Kurt takes a deep breath. He watches as Blaine throws the shirt into the tent and soon along with his trousers.

It’s then, that Blaine picks Kurt up, but in a bridal carry this time, and he runs towards the water, Kurt shouting and laughing as they go. Until Blaine trips when he’s waist deep, causing the both of them to fall under the water in a tangle of limbs.

As they both come up for air, gasping for breath and shivering slightly at the cold, they both have matching wide smiles plastered across their faces as they splash around in the water, laughing.

And Blaine knows for sure, this time, as the sun beams bright on the back of his neck, that this is what love is.

+

The sit on the rocks above their camp, overlooking the vast, empty sea as the sun begins to set, the sky a mixture of orange hues. Kurt’s legs are crossed, a book resting there as he reads the poems and Blaine listens from where he’s perched behind Kurt, up on his knees as he rests a daisy crown on the top of Kurt’s head. They’re back in their clothes, the cool air causing too many shivers.

Kurt reads, his voice melodic and songlike as he voices the words that aren’t his own. The sounds floating through the air, the crashing of the waves, dulled in the distance. He sits down, happy with the placement of the crown on Kurt’s head and he thinks that if there is anyone that deserves a crown, it’s Kurt.

He rests his back against Kurt’s, feeling the faint thrum of the vibration as Kurt reads;

“ _This lunar beauty_

_Has no history_

_Is complete and early,_

_If beauty later_

_Bear any feature_

_It had a lover_

_And is another._

_This like a dream_

_Keeps other time_

_And daytime is_

_The loss of this,_

_For time is inches_

_And the heart's changes_

_Where ghost has haunted_

_Lost and wanted._

_But this was never_

_A ghost's endeavor_

_Nor finished this,_

_Was ghost at ease,_

_And till it pass_

_Love shall not near_

_The sweetness here_

_Nor sorrow take_

_His endless look.”_

Blaine looks up at the merging colours in the cloudless sky; “That’s beautiful.”

“It’s sad, Blaine,” Kurt says, as he flicks the page over, the sound loud in the quiet atmosphere.

“It’s still beautiful,” Blaine says, his head resting against Kurt’s, dark black curls tangling with short brown hair, contrasting. Blaine turns his head, looking over his shoulder at Kurt and loses his breath; forgets how to breathe as his heart beats erratically in his chest.

The setting sun in the horizon is casting a golden light over Kurt, his profile dark as he looks down as he’s reading. His cheekbones are highlighted and his eyes reflecting the orange and yellows of the sun. Blaine remembers how to breathe, catches his breath just so he can say; “You’re beautiful.”

A dark red blush spreads across Kurt’s cheeks and Blaine feels himself falling that much further in love. “Thank you,” Kurt replies, his voice soft, moving a hand so that it covers Blaine’s, their gaze catching in the soft light.

Blaine’s stare is intense, a fire burning behind those eyes as Kurt’s shine and sparkle, his heart fluttering - feeling like it’s about to take off.  

“I still think that poem is beautiful,” Blaine says, “Even if it is sad, there’s a beautiful kind of sadness to it.”

Kurt furrows his eyebrows; “I love you, but you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He doesn’t even think - doesn’t _have_ to think. It’s in the blink of an eye that he replies, before the panic begins to filter into Kurt’s eyes; “I love you, too.”

+

In the darkness of the night sky with their feet covered in sand as they try to avoid the stones and rocks buried underneath, they stand in front of their tent by the crashing waves as the music from Kurt’s record player plays loudly in the silence of the night.

Their hands are clasped as they dance together to an upbeat song, laughing as they drag each other round in circles - gasping for breath. Blaine spins Kurt under his arm before Kurt dips Blaine and they almost fall over, together.

Their giggling and laughter is louder than the music so they dance out of time, prancing and leaping, sand flicking up from their feet as they move with the occasional splash from the waters edge.

The song transitions into another, and they slow down. Blaine’s arms grasped tight on Kurt’s waist with Kurt’s draped over Blaine’s shoulders as they sway to the music. They can feel the cold water splashing up against their feet as the waves crash with varying strengths; and the only other sound to be heard is their breathing.

They’re standing close as the music plays in the background, skin on skin as they dance on the spot. Their gaze meets and they both lose their footing for a moment, standing still as Kurt’s eyes twinkle in the night as they slowly inch forward.

There’s an electricity buzzing around them, sizzling as if a single spark could set it all of.

(It does.)

Blaine pulls Kurt closer by the waist, and Kurt tilts his head so that their lips can meet. The soft press of lips on lips is all it takes for the sparks to fly as they dance together.

And for once in his life, Kurt doesn’t think - he just acts. Opening his mouth slightly, letting Blaine press his tongue forwards. They tilt their heads, pressing deeper and deeper, and closer and closer.

All Kurt wants is Blaine. Everywhere.

And he is - covering all of his senses; on his touch as Kurt tangles his fingertips into the curls on the nape of Blaine’s neck, pulling his face closer even still - feeling the touch of his eyelashes against his cheek and wonders if Blaine can feel the same. (He can.)

Blaine’s all he can smell, that sweet scent of earth and flowers and the salt from the sea. He can taste the rich juice from the berries they picked on their hike down to this cove on Blaine’s tongue as they tangle and wind together in a delicate dance.

The music has finished but they keep on kissing and kissing, neither wanting to stop; wanting to soak in this moment. Wishing it could last forever as their lips press closer, Kurt’s hands now framing Blaine’s face, his touch precious and soft, but firm as he pull him in.

Under the shining, bright stars in the night sky with water crashing at their feet, there are two boys; one still in a scout uniform missing the neck scarf and another in a matching pink outfit. Their lips dance as they fall deeper and deeper, trying their best to live in this moment forever despite knowing that it won’t. But they don’t worry and focus on the present - on what’s happening now and just live in their own magical world for the time being.


	2. Chapter 2

Kurt doesn’t sleep.

He sits awake all night sitting on the bench by his window with his knees tucked up to his chest. The yellow suitcase is sitting in the middle of the floor, along with the record player, his satchel and the basket.

Kurt startles as there’s a soft meow before a thump as the kitten lands on the bench. She pushes her head into Kurt’s hands from where they’re draped over his knees and he instinctively curls his hand up to stroke her.

He sighs as tears drip from his chin and stares out into the darkness; his chest aching with longing and his head spinning with fear.

For a fleeting moment he wonders if it was worth it.

But then the moment is gone and he doesn’t even think before he answers himself because, yes, of course it was.

+

The moment they get into the campsite, Blaine crawls into his tent; flopping onto his bed, flinging an arm over his eyes and tries to pretend that there aren’t tears there - that the wetness on his arm is from the sea splashing up from the side of the boat.

He waits there, waits to be called out and to be lectured by Wes, their scout leader, but it never comes. So he stays there, in his bed until he falls asleep - exhaustion from their days of hiking catching up to him.

He dreams of late night swims, dancing in the sand and that melodic voice ringing out in the darkness; making Blaine’s heart beat just that tiny bit faster in his sleep as he remembers.

+

His dad hasn’t said a word to him since they were found in their tent early in the morning. His dad with a shocked expression on his face standing in front of them with Scout Leader Wes standing next to him just as surprised.

There has been no interaction, even as they sit at the same table at breakfast, Kurt nibbling on his toast as his dad reads his newspaper.

All of a sudden, Kurt gets up - his chair scraping and screeching loudly against the tiled floor.

Kurt’s dad doesn’t even look up.

+

The morning is the same as every morning; sitting at the long wooden table underneath the large oak tree, between Thad and Jeff. Wes sits in the center - reading the paper as the boys around whisper as they eat.

The only difference is their short, darting gazes, staring at Blaine. He shakes it off as he eats his food and pretends that everything is okay - that everything is normal.

+

In the bright, early morning sun, Kurt steps outside, his head reeling as the weather outside contrasts so deeply with the feelings inside his heart. He has a book in his hand and he paces the garden as his eyes skim over it, before he starts to read, his voice starting in a soft whisper;

“ _I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;_

_I lift my lids and all is born again._

_(I think I made you up inside my head.)_ ”

+

“Why don’t you like me?” Blaine asks, as the boys crowd around him, the questions on their tongue halted when Blaine speaks.

The boys mumble and splutter before Nick speaks; “We don’t - we didn’t.”

“But you do now?” Blaine says, a sad smile spreading across his face. “Why?”

“Because -” the boy stutters, not knowing how to respond.

+

Kurt keeps reading; his voice growing stronger and louder as he paces along the grass, leaves crunching underneath his feet and he fails to notice the open window above him and the fluttering curtain;

“ _The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,_

_And arbitrary blackness gallops in:_

_I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead._ ”

+

“Why?” Blaine repeats.

“I -” Nick stutters, “I don’t know, because we’re supposed to and because you’re wrong.”

“I’m wrong,” Blaine says; mostly to himself, taking a deep breath and looking up at the sky, and tries to take himself back to those precious moments with Kurt. (It doesn’t work.)

+

“ _I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed_

_And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane._

_(I think I made you up inside my head.)_ ”

+

“But why don’t you like me?” Blaine says, his voice growing frantic.

“Because -”

Blaine cuts in; “Is it because of who I am?” The boys recoil at the outburst, looking at each other in confusion. “Because I’m diseased?!”

The boys shake their heads frantically, watching as Blaine’s eyes fill with tears.

+

Kurt’s voice grows in volume as he recites, frantically reading the words, passion coating every syllable;

“ _God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:_

_Exit seraphim and Satan's men:_

_I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead._ ”

His eyes begin flow with tears at the last few words and he takes a breather as the tears fall from his overflowing eyes, running tracks down his cheeks and off of his chin.

+

“I don’t want to be diseased!” Blaine shouts at them; “You think I asked for this? For my parents to die and for me to grow up wrong and unhappy. To grow up different to everyone else because of who I love and because of who I am.”

Nick steps forward, but Blaine throws an arm out to stop him; “I’m just in love, don’t you understand?” He wipes the sleeve of his shirt across his eyes, smudging the tears across his face; “We’re in love and we just want to be together. What’s wrong with that?”

+

Kurt’s shouting by now; the tears are streaming down his face as his father watches in from the kitchen - his face full of a multitude of emotions but Kurt’s too busy drowning himself that he doesn’t see;

“ _I fancied you'd return the way you said,_

_But I grow old and I forget your name._

_(I think I made you up inside my head._ )”

+

“I think,” Blaine says, wiping his eyes of tears, “I think people forget that I’m still human.” He shrugs; “They forget that I have feelings too, just like them.”

“Blaine,” Jeff, a blond-headed scout, says, “We didn’t realise.”

“I know,” Blaine says; “No one ever does. But it’s okay.”

“Why?”

“Because I met Kurt,” Blaine says, his eyes dry; “He helped me learn how to love myself and even if, all along, we knew we would only get a few days together at most, if that’s all we could get, well, I was sure as hell going to take it.”

+

“ _I should have loved a thunderbird instead;_

_At least when spring comes they roar back again._

_I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead._ ”

He closes his eyes, and lets the book drop to the ground, standing still as he breathes; the last line he knows off my heart, he’s analysed every word, every letter for years, but it’s only now that he understands it. That he truly gets it and feels his heart breaking in his heart;

“ _(I think I made you up inside my head.)_ ”

Maybe he did, maybe it was all a dream because there is no way that Blaine is real - that Blaine exists. And there is no proof, except the memories in his head and the sand in his suitcase.

+

Something changes after that. Something in the atmosphere and the way that the sun doesn’t feel too hot on Blaine’s neck anymore as he works with other boys. As they build the steps up to that treehouse and try to fix Nick’s bike.

For the first time since setting foot in this camp; he feels lighter - he feels happier. And it’s not because of Kurt.

And he knows that they don’t understand him - they don’t get why he is who he is, but they’re trying and that, well, that means to world to Blaine.

Sometime during the day with the shining sun beaming down on their backs, Blaine tells Jeff that he never even got to say goodbye. They were ripped apart on the beach of their little cove and Blaine’s last memory of him is them being dragged away - to opposite sides of the beach before making their way home.

And when Jeff just tells him that “they’ll work something out,” Blaine isn’t sure how to believe him.

+

He’s so lonely in this house, as the insects crawl through the grass beside him and the leaves on the trees rustle from the wind blowing it’s way through the air, with only the words of dead poets to keep him company.

Kurt’s lonely without his dad’s familiar voice vibrating through the air - reassuring him with a certain calmness.

The silence from his dad scares Kurt, he’s scared of his dad’s opinion and he’s scared of how he’s going to react - when he reacts.

Up in the branches in their old apple tree, Kurt reads and reads and pretends to hear his mother’s voice in his head; a reassurance and a comfort. Instead of facing his own fears, he faces other people’s fears; spiders and insects and heights.

+

“Dear Mr Kurt Hummel,

We (the Warbler Scout Troop) wanted to give you -”

+

It’s in a meadow that it ends. Where the clouds are dark as they open up and rain falls down in cascades, flooding the floor and causing mud to spray up everywhere. Where the tall stems of grass are slouching with the weight of the raindrops and the large, rusty windmill at the edge of the meadow is creaking as the wind picks up causing the blades to spin and spin. Where the air is dark and there’s no hint of sun anywhere to be seen.

And there, in that empty meadow stands stands two boys one hundred yards apart. There’s a boy scout still in that green uniform with a multitude of badges plastered to his shirt. His dark, curled hair falls flat on his head with the weight of the rain. It drips off the curls and onto his already soaking wet shirt. The big, thick frames on his face are covered with rain water but he doesn’t care.

The flowers in his hand are drooping - the white daisies facing the ground as if in sadness.

The other boy stands there with his shorts and shirt matching pink - the white of the collar and the folded three-quarter length sleeves contrast brightly. The black binoculars are there as always, hanging from his neck. He wears bright yellow wellington boots; the colour of the sun (if it were out), reaching his knees and specked with mud. He holds in his hand a matching yellow umbrella - covering and protecting him from the rain.

The outfit stands out brightly on this dark and gloomy day, looking to happy to be there.

They look up and as their gazes catch, small, sad smiles appear on both of their faces, but before either moves, the boy with the curled hair takes a piece of paper from his chest pocket. The rain soaks it wet with large splatters of water, the ink starts to run, but the boy reads;

“'Love has no ending.

 

'I'll love you, dear, I'll love you

Till China and Africa meet,

And the river jumps over the mountain

And the salmon sing in the street,

 

'I'll love you till the ocean

Is folded and hung up to dry

And the seven stars go squawking

Like geese about the sky.

 

'The years shall run like rabbits,

For in my arms I hold

The Flower of the Ages,

And the first love of the world.'”

“Blaine,” the brown-haired boy whispers and he’s not sure Blaine has heard it; the sound being drowned out by the roar of the rain.

Then, all of a sudden, as a flash of lightning flies through the sky and the booming rumble of thunders shouts across the air, the two boys run. Tripping and stumbling as they skid on the wet mud, brown flying everywhere as they crash. Their lips find each others instantly, pushing and pulling at one another as their lips move together; finding a rhythm.

“Kurt,” Blaine gasps as he pulls Kurt closer, his hands gripping at his face - needing the skin on skin contact, needing to know that this is _real_.

Kurt grasps at Blaine’s waist as Blaine reaches up on his tip-toes and their kisses deepen; Blaine opening his mouth to let Kurt’s tongue slide in. It’s soft strokes and frantic hands, closed eyes and no sense of reality. Because it feels like a dream - like something that doesn’t happen in real life. The sparks are flying around them like electricity, as Kurt’s hand goes lax and the umbrella drops, not covering either of them but they don’t care.

They kiss and kiss, as the rain falls, dripping down their faces and off of their eyelashes. There’s sighs and light moans as hands wander.

And when they pull back with their foreheads touching as water tries to fall between them, they hold each other, both knowing that this is goodbye.

“I love you,” Kurt says, “I’ll always love you.”

“And I’ll love you for all of eternity.”

+

“- and Blaine a goodbye.

Best wishes,

Warbler Nick Duvall, a fellow scout, confidant and friend of Blaine Anderson.”

+

When he gets home late that evening, the umbrella closed as he drags it along the ground - the tears in his eyes hidden by the raindrops, he slams the door shut.

The moment he does, his dad is standing in the hallway, his fists clenched together and a broken look in his eyes; “Kurt,” he croaks, rushing forward before pulling Kurt into a bonecrushing hug.

“Dad?” Kurt says, his voice breaking as he grasps his dad’s back tight.

“Don’t -” Burt says, “Don’t do that _ever_ again.”

Kurt shudders, emotion welling up his eyes; “I’m sorry,” he whispers. There’s a few moments of silence before; “I was scared.”

“Of me?” Burt says, taking a step back so he can look Kurt in the eyes. “You were scared of me?”

Kurt nods his head in shame. “I thought -” he begins, wrapping his arms around himself; “I thought I was _diseased_ , Dad. I thought there was something wrong with me. I thought you would hate me.”

“Kurt,” Burt says, looking him directly in his eyes, “I could never hate you. You’re my kid. I don’t _care_ about that - I just want you to be safe and happy. I didn’t know how to handle it - it was a shock so I didn’t say anything at all. But I realise now that if I don’t want to lose you, I’m going to have to deal with it. And I don’t want to lose you again. I can’t lose you _as well_.”

They’re both silent for a while before Burt talks again; “I love you, kiddo.”

“Dad,” Kurt says, his voice trembling as tears fall from his eyes, relief filtering through his body and he shudders as he takes a deep breath. And for the first time in days, Kurt smiles - finally feeling that huge weight be lifted from his shoulders.

+

At breakfast the next morning, before the boys start their jobs and repair damage from the storm, Blaine gets up. He stands tall amongst the Warblers and speaks; “Thank you,” he says, not looking anyone in particular, “Thank you for everything.”

And they all know, they know that this is meant for them.


	3. Chapter 3

He wonders, sometimes, how he is where he is. How over the course of eighteen months, he managed to find acceptance and love when all his life he’d imagined having a lifetime of neither.

He’d expected to spend the rest of his life lying about who he is and pretending to everyone he ever met that he was someone that he’s not.

But all he needed was that catalyst - that spark - to set everything into motion and turn everything upside down. As Kurt looks in the mirror, wearing a navy blazer with red piping and his hair styled to perfection, he doesn’t recognise that boy he was before. Before the summer.

So he sets off, softly closing his dorm room door behind him as he shuts it with a click of finality. Walking down the corridor, he shivers with excitement and nervousness, a tremor making its way through his body.

He’s still smiling.

He thinks of his dad, and how much they really misunderstood each other, how they’re both _trying_ now and that’s all that matters. Maybe things are uncomfortable and stilted even still, but it’s better - the best it’s ever been since his mom died.

He thinks of Blaine and how he hasn’t seen him since that rainy day in the field. He thinks of the way he gave Blaine his book - his one prized possession in the hopes that he will be remembered.

He wonders if Blaine still reads it and thinks of him, wonders where exactly he is and what he’s doing. If he’s okay or if he’s not. (He really hopes he is.)

The bell rings just as Kurt’s about to make his way down the staircase - his hand trailing along the cold, black railings. He knows he needs to ask someone what to do and where to go but instead he marvels at his surroundings; the paintings on the walls and the bustle of the boys running up and down the staircase.

But as he’s almost at the bottom, he taps a boy on the shoulder, the words on his lips when the boy turns round.

He looks up and … oh.

“There you are,” Kurt murmurs, his voice soft and sweet. The boy stands still with his hazel eyes wide open, sparkling and glimmering in the light, darting over Kurt’s entire body. Kurt knows that’s they’re both thinking the same thing; wondering if this is real.

And all Kurt wants to do is throw himself forward, gripping and grasping at the boy’s body and never let go - never again. He wants to attach their lips in a fierce embrace and dig his hands into his hair.

But he _can’t_ and he knows he can’t because it’s neither the time nor place.

The is hall now void of students rushing to their next class, so he reaches forward gently and brushes his hand against Kurt’s, the slight touch of the fingertips is all Kurt needs.

It’s all that he needs to know that it is real and he lets out a soft breath of air, loud in the silence of the atmosphere watching with bated breath as Blaine’s fingers intertwine with his; “I’ve been looking for you, forever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poems used are: 
> 
> 1\. The Song of Wandering Aengus  
> By William Butler Yeats
> 
> 2\. i carry your heart with me(i carry it in  
> By E. E. Cummings
> 
> 3\. This Lunar Beauty  
> By W. H. Auden
> 
> 4\. Mad Girl’s Love Song  
> By Sylvia Plath
> 
> 5\. As I Walked Out One Evening  
> By W. H. Auden


End file.
